Shotgun Sinners, WildEyed Jokers
by bambers2
Summary: Brothers separated by fate, brought back together by destiny. Sixth story in the Angels and Demons series.
1. Chapter 1

_So as I said in the last Chapter of Blood Bonds, this next part of the Angels and Demons story is actually two separate parts. I posted Knockin' on Heaven's door yesterday, and so today I am posting the first chapter of Shotgun Sinners. AS i said, I have been waiting to write this one for quite some time, and am thrilled that I've finally gotten to it in the series. thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed it even in the slightest, let me know. bambers;)_

_Shotgun Sinners, Wild-Eyed Jokers_

_Chapter One_

Dean awoke with an abrupt gasp, drawing in a lung full of air and instantly started to cough. Thick, acrid smoke filled his lungs, and stung at his eyes as he pried them open to figure out where he was, but couldn't see anything beyond a wall of rolling smoke and golden-orange flames. Thunderous explosions rocked the earth as the flames grew more intense, licking at the ground not more than twenty feet away from where he lay on the icy cold snow.

The last thing he recalled was being at Rowan's cabin, and then everything slipped away as he'd felt himself dying, and momentarily wondered if he was dead and was in Hell. If the nearly unbearable heat that scorched his face and body was any indication, he would have to say that was exactly where he was, but that wouldn't explain away the snowbank he now found himself perched upon.

The sky appeared blood red, edged with inky blackness as gale-force winds drove the flames ever higher into the night. Amidst the din, he faintly heard the sounds of people screaming, and saw them desperately trying to scamper away from the wall of fire surrounding them.

"Where the hell am I?" he muttered as another explosion, shot sparks and flames more than fifty feet into the darkened sky.

"New York City," came a familiar voice from right behind him, and he shifted in his seat to see Michael standing behind him.

"Not possible, where's the Empire State building then?"

"Guess I should say, New York City in 1835."

Dean lifted a brow as he wiggled an index finger against his ear, thinking he must have somehow misheard the archangel due to the deafening roar of the fire. "O-kay," he uttered, in clear disbelief, "I so have to be delirious cause I could've sworn I just heard you say 1835."

"No, you heard me correctly." Michael squat beside Dean, and gestured toward the burning city. "From December 16th to the 17th there was a great fire in New York City. If you look over that way," he pointed off to the right, and then continued, "it started there in a warehouse at 25 Merchant Street and quickly spread to engulf much of the city. Recorded history stated that the cause of the fire as a gaspipe that burst and ignited a coal stove, but if you look just a bit further down the road, you might just see a familiar face."

Dean squinted and could just make out the image of a man strolling amongst the writhing flames as if it were the most natural thing for him be doing, and he instantly realized that it had to be a demon possessing a man. "Lucifer?" was the first name that came to mind, but when Michael shook his head, he uttered the second name that had been so much apart of his life that he was somewhat shocked that he hadn't said it first. "The Yellow-Eyed Demon."

"Azazel," Michael clarified.

"So why am I here?" Dean asked as he continued to watch the demon.

Michael shrugged. "Well, I figured this was as good of a starting place as any."

"I'm dreaming, right?"

"No, I guess I would say you're in a dual reality. Time is moving on in the future with you in it, but you're also moving forward in time here as well."

"Okay, so I'm now officially all kinds of crazy cause this is so not possible."

"Well, I've questioned your sanity on many occasions, but this time is definitely not one of them." Michael chuckled, the laughing grin gracing his face softening his hardened features considerably.

Dean furrowed a brow in confusion as he glanced around and found that nothing looked even remotely familiar "How's this even possible?"

Michael was silent for the longest time as he studied Dean, and then he finally heaved a weary sigh. Scrubbing a hand across his stubbled jaw, he said, "There was a moment while you were sick where you hovered between life and death. Uriel chose that very second to pull a part of your essence from your body and cast it back in time so you could complete this mission."

"So what you're saying is that this is just like one very huge-assed out-of-body experience?"

"Pretty much."

"How the hell do I get back to my own time?"

"Sometimes, Dean, understanding comes from sacrifice . . . giving everything without having any clue as to what the outcome of that sacrifice will be."

"So, I guess that's your roundabout way of saying I have to figure it out myself, right?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying." Michael laughed heartily, the deep rich sound of it filling the cold night air. "But I have faith in you, Dean. You'll do just fine."

"What do I have to do?"

"I've brought you here on a matter of utmost importance, and you can't afford to fail me on this matter." He stood and held out a hand to help Dean to his feet. "As you already know the legend of the Colt, I don't think I need to go into much detail about it. But there are other things that happened during this time period that far outrank the importance of that gun, and they're the reason you're here."

"What kinds of things?" Dean once again eyed the burning city, and for a moment was held mesmerized by the sight of the copper roofing as it melted off some of the buildings to pool on the ground.

"The Ark of thy God's strength was secreted into America not very long ago by those who would guard it with their lives."

Dean shrugged as he glanced toward the building where the fire had begun, and wondered if the Ark Michael had spoken of was inside the crumbling walls of the structure. "I'm so not following you here. What does this have to do with me? My job was to guard Jay for six months, an' I can't see how this relates to that."

"Maybe I should make this a little more clear for you. I'm referring to the Ark of the Covenant." Michael paused to clear his throat, and to give Dean time to fully digest the importance of the information he had just imparted. "I need you to find out where it is, and then hide it away where no one would ever think to look for it until such a time as you need to open it in the future."

Dean's mouth dropped open as he stared incredulously at the archangel. "Do I look like Indiana Jones to you?"

"No, you look like the man who's gonna do exactly as I tell you to do if you ever want to go back to your own time in history."

"How am I suppose to find it?"

"If I were you, I would start by talking to the one person you know who would be around in 1835." Michael gestured toward the fire again, and Dean turned his head just in time to see a dark-haired man with a soot-covered face sprinting toward him.

"Rowan?" He glanced back to question Michael, but the angel had disappeared. "This is so not good. I'm never gonna find this damn thing. An' how the hell am I suppose to explain to Rowan that I'm from the future without sounding like some sort of complete whack job?"

Although he didn't have the time to consider a plan of action as Rowan reached him, grabbed hold of his arm and practically dragged him further away from the burning city. "Sammy, what the hell are you doin' here?" he shouted back over his shoulder. "Thought you an' your brother were headin' for Connecticut?"

"Sammy?" Dean dug his heels into the snow-covered ground, stopped dead in his tracks, and jerked free of Rowan's hold on him. "I'm Dean, Rowan."

Rowan swung to stare at him, and a look of brief confusion registered in his gleaming green eyes. "What the hell are you talkin' about? Did ya hit your head or something?" He narrowed his eyes as he looked more closely at Dean. "An' what in the name of all that is holy are you wearing?"

Dean glanced down at his clothing, but couldn't find anything wrong with his jeans, Metallica t-shirt, and leather jacket. "What are you talkin' about?"

"This." Rowan fisted the collar of Dean's t-shirt, and pulled him closer to him. "What the hell is Metallica, an' how did ya get it printed on your shirt?"

"I bought it this way at a Metallica concert." Dean furrowed a brow as he realized it would be nearly a hundred and fifty years before the heavy metal group came into existence. "An' you totally have no idea what I'm talkin' about here, do you?"

"Ya know what I think?" Rowan quirked a brow as he studied Dean carefully. "I think you hit your head, got a concussion, an' now your babblin' like a dang fool."

"Listen, I know you're probably not gonna believe this, but I'm not Sam," Dean began, figuring he might as well try and tell his friend the truth of the situation. "I'm Dean Winchester, and since you're the only person I know who's alive at the moment, I really need your help."

Rowan stared at Dean for a moment, and then burst out laughing. "Did Seth put you up to this?" he uttered between laughs. "Damn, an' here I almost fell for it for a minute, too."

"Who's Seth?" Dean searched his memory, trying to recall if Rowan had ever mentioned a Seth in all their conversations, but couldn't remember him ever talking about the man in question.

"Your younger brother. Tall, dark hair, hazel eyes, looks a lot like Michael Dean. Any of this ringing a bell for ya?"

"Look," Dean heaved a groan, nearing the end of his patience. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm not Thomas Samuel. I don't belong here, an' the only reason I even know who you are is cause in about a hundred and seventy years from now, we become friends."

The green-eyed vampire stared at Dean long and hard, and then shook his head. "Nice try, Sammy. You almost had me going there for a second."

"I'm not lying to you, Rowan, an' you've gotta believe me cause you're the only one who can help me."

A frown creased Rowan's brow as he considered the possibility of what Dean had just said. "It's not possible. I'll be long gone by then."

"It's the truth, an' I know it sounds all kinds of crazy, but you have to believe me." Dean hesitated for a moment, hating the idea of having to tell Rowan that his plan to end his own life would fail, but realized he had no choice. "I know you think the Colt can kill anything, but it's not gonna work on you."

"You don't know that," Rowan snarled, his voice turning low and deadly as he turned his back on Dean.

"Ask me anything about you, Rowan. Ask me something only you would know, an' if I'm wrong then just leave me here, but if I'm right, you have to promise to help me."

Rowan swung back to glare at Dean, and then hesitated as he bit pensively at his lower lip. "I've never told anyone my real name or how I became a vampire. So if you can tell me those two things, then I'll believe you."

Dean let out a thankful sigh, more than just a little relieved that Rowan had chosen two questions he knew the answer to. "Your real name is Judas Iscariot . . . an' as punishment for betraying Jesus you were eternally damned by Michael to witness what you had done to mankind."

The vampire drew in a sharp breath as he narrowed his eyes on Dean. "I never told anyone that . . . not even Micheal Dean. How could you possibly know that?"

"Cause like I've been trying to tell you for past five minutes, I'm from the future, an' whether you choose to it believe or not, you're my best friend." Dean paused for a moment to allow his words to sink in, and then added, "I'm pretty damn sure, you're familiar with Archangel Michael, right?"

"Yeah," Rowan conceded, now eying Dean suspiciously. "But what does he have to do with this."

"Well, he sent me back here to find the Ark of the Covenant, an' he seemed to think you might know where it is."

"Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you where it is." Rowan pivoted on his heel and strode away from Dean, calling back over his shoulder, "An' the Colt will kill anything, an' that includes me."

"Why?" Dean rushed to catch up with Rowan, not about to let the vampire leave without taking him along. "Because some damn demon told you it would work?"

Rowan abruptly stopped dead in his tracks, grabbed hold of Dean by the neck, and hefted him several inches off the ground. "How'd you know a demon gave me the instructions on how to build the Colt?"

"Cause I just don't think an' angel like Michael would give you false hope that it would end your suffering."

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, Dean, or whatever your real name is." His hold around Dean's neck tightened. "I don't like you, an' I highly doubt I would ever change my mind about that no matter how long I might live. So if you think I'm gonna help you find anything, you've got another damn thing coming."

As Dean's mind raced to figure out a way to get Rowan to help him, he spied his amulet dangling from around the older vampire's neck, and a plan began to form in his mind. "If you help me, I'll tell you a way you can die, an' I know for sure it'll kill you. An' if you don't believe me, you could always ask Michael cause he's the one who told me it would work."

"How?" Rowan's eyes briefly lit with hope, and Dean almost felt bad for lying to him, but he had no intention of ever telling him how the amulet would save him from living forever.

"Help me first, an' then I'll tell you."

"Alright, I'll make a deal with you," Rowan said as he set Dean down, and once again picked up his pace and Dean followed. "If the Colt doesn't work, I'll help you find the Ark."

"I don't have that kind of time," Dean blurted out, "You may not get this, but things are pretty damn bad in the future, an' I need to know where the Ark is now."

"Then I guess this means we're at a stalemate, Dean." Rowan smirked as he headed further down the road. "You want something from me, an' if you're telling the truth then I definitely want something from you, so I just guess we'll have to see who breaks first."


	2. Chapter 2

_So, hopefully everyone is enjoying this little trip back into the past so far!! Thanks for reading and for the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Two_

"What do you mean, you don't have a horse?" Rowan asked as he saddled his sleek black steed.

"What part of I'm from the future, an' we don't use horses as a main source of transportation weren't you getting the first ten times I said it?" Dean rolled his eyes, briefly wondering how they had become best friends in the future with the way Rowan was acting now.

"So how do you plan on gettin' around, cause there's no way in hell you're riding with me."

"Well, you can't just leave me here."

"Aww . . . sure I can." Rowan settled into his seat, and lightly kicked the horse into motion, setting off at a steady gait and leaving Dean behind.

"You sonuvabitch," Dean swore under his breath as he took off at a dead-run after the dark-haired vampire. In the distance, he could hear Rowan laughing as he made a wide circle and brought his horse to a stop to watch Dean stumbling through the heavy snow. Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, he plunged headlong through the snow drifts, tripped and fell, landing face first into the snow. Dean slowly lifted his head as he listened to Rowan laughing all the harder.

"What, they don't have snow in your time either, or are you just doing a really bad imitation of a snow bunny?"

"Did I fail to mention that I really can't stand you in the future either."

"Naw, Dean, we're best friends. Remember?"

Dean groaned as he slowly made his way back to his feet, and furiously wiped away the snow from his hair and face. "Why do you gotta be such an' ass . . . why can't ya just let me ride with you?"

"Tell me something, Dean," Rowan said as he leaned forward in the saddle to study Dean more closely, and then nudged his head toward the back of his horse, "Am I happy in the future?"

"Why do you wanna know?" Dean asked as he trudged through the snow, and then extended an arm to have Rowan help him up into the saddle.

"Cause if I'm really gonna live that long, I'd like to know that I at least find a little peace in my life."

"You have a son named Collin, an' for what it's worth you really love him," Dean replied as he shifted in his seat, and wrapped his arms around Rowan's waist. Of course he failed to mention that Rowan had never actually spent any time with his only son or the fact that Collin couldn't stand him.

"I have a son?" Rowan smiled as he glanced over his shoulder at Dean. "I never thought . . . I mean, I never actually believed I could have any kids." His grin turned to a chuckle as he kicked his horse into a gallop, and Dean tightened his hold around the vampire's waist in response. "Damn, Dean, just cause I'm giving you a ride, doesn't mean I want you to get all touchy-feely with me."

Dean loosened his hold on Rowan, and grimaced. "Forgot to mention, I'm not a big fan of horses or heights . . . or pretty much anything I could fall off of an' get killed on."

"You've got to be kidding me." Rowan pulled on the reins and slowed his horse to a steady gait along the winding path. "That pretty damn pathetic if you ask me."

"So speaks the vamp who's afraid of bugs and bats."

Heaving an irritated sigh, Rowan glanced over his shoulder at Dean. "Can you tell me if I managed to keep any secrets in the future or am I just a blabbering idiot?"

"Naw . . . you're pretty much a blabbering idiot."

Rowan fell silent as he expertly maneuvered his horse away from several fallen logs, and headed toward open ground. Having been in New York on more than one occasion in his lifetime, Dean stared in awe at how open and uncluttered the land appeared without Skyscrapers, roads, cars and people filling up every available inch of space. The houses that dotted the snowy, pristine expanse were few and far between, and there was a certain sense of peace about the place the likes of which Dean had never experienced before in his life.

Casting a glance back over his shoulder, he noticed how the sky was still a fiery red, and was reminded of Ark. He thought to ask Rowan why Azazel was in the city, and if the demon was searching for the same thing Dean was, but knew the vampire wouldn't give him the answers he needed.

"How'd we become friends, Dean?" Rowan asked, startling Dean out of his musings, and he lurched forward into the dark-haired vampire. "See, I can understand why you would be want to be friends with me, but I just don't see why I'd ever wanna be friends with you. I must be into charity work in the future, right?"

"I . . . well, I cut off your head." Dean paused, not sure he should continue, but when he heard Rowan chuckle, he added, "Then you showed up at motel the next day. After that you pretty much told me we were gonna be great friends, an' I haven't been able to get rid of you since."

"So I'm a blabbering idiot an' I'm needy . . . damn, that Colt better work cause I am beginning to sound really pathetic."

Dean thought to make a joke, but could tell by the way Rowan's shoulders now sagged, that he was looking less and less forward to the prospect of living so long. "The truth is I've never had any real friends before you, Rowan," he reluctantly admitted, and held his breath as he waited for some sort of jeering comment, then slowly released it when he realized none was forthcoming. "See, I was four when my mother was killed by Azazel, an' after that my father spent the rest of his life hunting the damn thing down. We moved around a lot, an' it was always my job to look out for my little brother, Sammy."

"Huh, so your father was a hunter?" Rowan asked, now sounding somewhat intrigued. "An' how about you an' your brother? Are you both hunters as well?"

"Sam went to college for a little while, but when his girlfriend Jessica was killed by the same demon who killed our mom, he quit school and returned to hunting."

"An' you?"

"From the time I could hold a gun on my own, I was training, an' so pretty much, hunting's all I've ever known."

"Wow, you sound even more pathetic than me." Rowan shifted in the saddle and flashed Dean a toothy grin. "Are you sure didn't we meet at some sort of outreach program for losers?"

"You know, from what I can tell, you won't change a single bit between now until then. Cause you're still a smart-ass even in the future."

"When you know you're gonna live forever, you really have to have a sense of humor about things, Dean."

Rowan fell silent, and they rode that way for quite some time. The elder vampire craned his neck, sniffed the air, and cursed under his breath as he spurred his horse into a gallop. They skirted by the first two small towns they past, but at the third Rowan guided his horse into town, and pulled back on the reins to bring it to a halt.

"What are we stopping here for?"

"I have to find someone," Rowan said evasively as he eyed a two-story motel across the dirt road.

"Who?" Dean asked as Rowan slid off the saddle, and he followed. However, the moment he stepped foot on the snow-covered ground, his legs began to quiver. His inner thighs burned as if they were on fire, and he hastily rubbed them. "Sonuvabitch, how the hell does anyone ride for any length of time on one of these things?" He jerked a thumb toward the horse and scowled.

"Well, most riders don't usually wear loose fitting jeans that would chaff. An' like me, most wear chaps as protection from the elements." Rowan chuckled as he ran his hand over his smooth, black leather chaps. "Not to mention that they help ya stay on the horse . . . not actually sure why, but that what the man I bought them from said."

"So what if I can't afford to get new pants and chaps?" Dean asked, realizing that all the money in his wallet would be dated well into the future and would be worthless in 1835.

"Then I would have to say you're gonna be really sore by the time we get to Connecticut."

"Damn it, Rowan, I know you can afford to buy them for me, so don't make me have to ask."

"Tell me how to die, Dean, an' I'll buy you anything you want," Rowan smoothly countered as he tethered his horse, and then turned and strode toward a motel on the opposite side of the street.

"You know I can't do that," Dean shouted as he watched the vampire heading further away from him.

"Guess that's too bad for you then." Rowan shrugged as he called back over his shoulder. "Cause with the clothes you're wearing, people are definitely gonna start asking questions."

Dean's scowl deepened as he gave a curt nod. "Alright, I'll tell ya, but just remember that if you kill yourself now, your son Collin will never be born in the future." A gloating grin slid across his features as Rowan stopped dead in his tracks and swung to face him.

"I would rather die now than to bring another vampire into this world," he snarled, eyes alighting with green fire. "Cause God only knows how many I created before I learned to control my hunger."

"Here's a little known fact that someone once told me, Rowan, vampires aren't created by having sex." Dean smirked recalling how Rowan had told him this when he had asked if Collin was a vampire. "Your son is human."

"You're sure?" A brief smile flitted across Rowan's face, and then faltered as he took a step toward Dean. "I mean really sure?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Rowan."

Rowan was silent for several moments as he considered what Dean had just said, and then gave a nod. "Alright, I'll get you everything you need, but swear to God if I find out you're lyin' to me, I'll kill you." Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed to the motel. Pausing at the door, he ripped down a piece of paper, crumpled it, and shoved it in his pocket. "You coming along, Dean, or you gonna stay out here an' freeze all night?"

"I'm coming." Dean rushed to catch up to Rowan, and entered the establishment directly behind him. "Why are we staying here?"

"Cause I caught Michael Dean an' Thomas Samuel's scent a few miles ago, an' I tracked them here." Rowan bit pensively at his lower lip as he frowned. "An' seein' as they didn't keep going an' I could smell the aroma of fresh blood in the air, I'm thinkin' that one of them must be hurt."

"I didn't smell their blood," Dean said, and then rolled his tongue over his teeth, wondering why he hadn't been able to detect even the faintest scent of blood.

The vampire chuckled. "Well, you'd have to be a vamp to smell it, so don't worry about it."

"But I – " Dean's voice abruptly trailed off as he craned his neck and strained to hear the heartbeats of anyone in the motel, yet heard nothing. "I don't understand." He furrowed a brow in confusion. "You turned me . . . I should've been able to pick up their scent."

"I what?" Rowan blurted out, fear now evident in his eyes as he shook his head emphatically. "I wouldn't have done that . . . it's jus' not possible. I don't turn people anymore. I – I stopped a long time ago."

"You didn't do it on purpose," Dean hastily assured as he noticed Rowan trembling. "Killeon bit you, an' you were turning into something really bad-assed, so it was the only way I could stop it from happening." he scratched his head as he consciously tried to will his fangs to descend, but nothing happened. "But for some damn reason, I must've been cured."

"People don't just get _cured_ after being a vamp's meal, Dean. They either die or become a bloodsucking vamp."

"Well, I'm tellin' you that I was a vamp, an' now I'm not," Dean argued, "Maybe I learned whatever lesson I was supposed to learn, an' Michael changed me back."

Rowan arched a questioning brow as he stared at Dean in disbelief. "Are you talkin' about a Crucible Creed?"

"Yeah."

"Huh, then I doubt you've learned any lesson as of yet or you would know it," Rowan replied smugly and then chuckled. "More than likely you're not a vamp because things in the future haven't happened yet." That said, he strode to the counter, and rang the bell to garner the clerk's attention.

A short, balding man in wire-rimmed glasses appeared from a small room behind the counter, and hurried to check the register. "Evenin'," he said with a smile. "Need a room?"

"Two of them," Rowan said as he threw a wad of cash on the counter, and then hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "An' I need someone to take care of my horse, Shadowslayer."

"Shadowslayer?" Dean bit his lower lip to keep from chuckling, but couldn't keep it from slipping out. "God, it just figures you'd pick a name like that for your horse."

"It's a damn good name for a horse, Dean," Rowan hissed through clenched teeth as he stomp his booted foot down hard on Dean's, and grinned when Dean winced and cursed under his breath.

"I'll have Johnny tend to your horse, sir," the clerk said, apparently choosing to ignore Dean's outburst. "But, I'm afraid I only have one room left to rent."

"That's alright," Rowan said as he eyed the older man for a moment, and then glanced at Dean and smirked. "Dean'll sleep in the stable with my horse tonight."

"Just a sec," Dean held up an index finger to the clerk, "I need to talk with my friend for a moment." Grabbing hold of Rowan's arm, he dragged him away from the desk. Once they were out of earshot, he lit into Rowan. "I'm not sleeping in any damn stable. It's freezing outside, my clothes are drenched, an' I'm pretty freakin' sure there'll be two beds in any room you rent, so there's no damn reason I can't stay with you."

Pursing his lips, Rowan crossed his arms as he stared at Dean. A devilish twinkle lit up his green eyes as he gave a shake of his head. "No."

"Rowan, don't be an ass, just share the damn room with me."

"Alright, if you'll admit Shadowslayer is a great name for a horse, I'll let you stay with me. But if you don't wanna do that, it's gonna be awfully cold outside tonight, so you'd better buy yourself a blanket."

For what seemed to be the longest time, both men stood eying each other, neither one wanting to back down, but finally Dean conceded. "Shadowslayer is a perfect name for a horse," he managed to utter through clenched teeth. "If its owner is a dumb-assed vampire," he added when he heard the dark-haired vampire laugh.

"Go ahead an' make jokes, Dean," Rowan turned his back on him, and headed to the counter, calling over his shoulder, "Cause when I buy you a horse, I'm gonna call it Ladybitch." Refocusing his attention on the clerk, he snatched the key out of the man's hand. "We'll take the room, an' can you have someone send up some hot water an' towels for my friend over there, he really needs a bath."

"Sure thing, sir. I'll have Paul bring the water up shortly."

"Thanks." Without another word, Rowan strode to the stairway, and headed up the second floor with Dean following close behind. The vampire raised his head and sniffed the air as he walked down the long, dimly lit corridor, and then stopped outside the second to last door on the left. He knocked, and after a few moments, someone opened the door a crack and peered out.

"Sammy, let me in," Rowan said, and without waiting for the man to respond he pushed the door open and strode inside.

Dean was about to follow, but stopped short when he came face to face with a man who looked almost exactly like him. Dean's jaw dropped open, perfectly mirroring that of the stunned man who stood there staring at him as if he was a skinwalker. Although the man's hair was a bit longer, and a lot more shaggy, and his eyes were more hazel than green, there was no mistaking the definite similarities between them. There was also no denying that they were somehow related as they had the same build and bone structure.

"I . . . you . . . ." Dean's voice trailed off as he continued to gape at the man who looked so much like him.

"Dean," Rowan interjected as he nudged his head toward the man, "This is Thomas Samuel Winchester . . . Thomas, this is Dean Winchester, a very distant relation to you."

"Yer kiddin' me, right, Rowan?" Thomas uttered in clear disbelief. "He's some sort of skinwalker, isn't he?"

"No, he's more of a pain in the ass."

"H-he's no relation of ours," came a voice from behind Rowan, and Dean tilted his head to see a man lying on the bed, who could have passed for Sam's twin. Although again, his hair was a lot longer than Sam had ever worn his, falling well past his shoulders, and his eyes were a light shade of mossy green, but otherwise Dean could find no difference between his little brother and the other man. "Why the hell did ya bring a damn skinwalker here, Rowan?"

"Trust me, Micheal Dean, he's not a skinwalker." Rowan heaved a weary sigh as he dropped down on the bed beside his friend. "Lemme take a look at your wound."

"It's not that bad," Michael Dean said, and then drew in a sharp breath and winced as Rowan lightly touched his side. "Okay, s-so it's a little bad." he managed a small smile between gasping breaths.

"How'd it happen?" Rowan turned to look at Thomas Samuel, and waited for the younger hunter to respond.

"We were just about ta leave New York, an' then we spotted Azazel."

"You went after him, didn't you?" Rowan shook his head in disgust as he pulled back the covers and saw the bloodied bandage covering Michael Dean's whole right side. "I told you both to leave. I told you I'd handle that damn demon, but neither of you ever listen." He yanked out the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and threw it on the bed. "An' then you jus' show up here, knowing that you're both wanted men."

"What were we supposed ta do, Rowan?" Thomas asked as he crossed the room and snatched the wanted poster off the bed. "It wasn't like we had a damn choice in the matter. Michael Dean was bleedin' somethin' fierce, an' if I didn't take care of his wound, he would've died before morning."

"Did the clerk seem to recognize you?" Rowan said as he yanked off his amulet and pressed it between both of his hands until it began to glow with warmth.

"Naww . . . ." Michael Dean uttered and then coughed hard, blood spilling from between his chapped lips. "K-kept our brims lowered, an' we didn't make any eye contact."

"You're sure?" Rowan raised a concerned brow as he undid Michael Dean's bandage, and placed the amulet over the long jagged gash. "Cause you'll both hang if they catch ya."

"Y-you worry too – " Michael Dean's voice trailed off abruptly as he arched off the bed. A scream tore from his lips, more blood dripping from his mouth as Rowan pressed a hand down against his chest.

"Just stay still, Michael Dean, I'm almost done."

"It – it h-hurts, R-Rowan," the injured man gasped, gripping hold of Rowan's arm, and tried to push it away, to no avail.

"Damn it, Michael, stop squirming," Rowan ordered, pressing the palm of his hand against his friend's shoulder to keep him still. "You damn well know it always hurts, but it's a helluva lot better than getting' an infection and dying."

Dean edged closer to the bed and watched in awe as the deep wound slowly healed over completely, leaving behind not even the slightest scar as proof that Michael Dean had ever been injured in the first place. His hand immediately went to his throat, and he felt around for his amulet, but his hand fell away when he recalled that Rowan had taken it back from Jax and kept it for himself in the future. "Your amulet can heal anyone?" he asked in a breathless rush, suddenly feeling as if it were a matter of life and death that he got it back from the vampire.

"That's not all it can do," Thomas said with a smile as he clapped Rowan on the back. "But it's the only thing I care about . . . as it's saved our hides more times than I care ta count."

Michael Dean pushed himself up in bed, and grinned at the dark-haired vampire. "He keeps tryin' ta give it ta me, but I think he needs it more."

A sad frown graced Rowan's features as he glanced at Dean, and then refocused his attention on his friend. "After the Colt's built, an' I'm gone, you better take it from me. You're my best friend . . . an' I won't have you dangling by some hangman's noose."

"Already told ya, Rowan, I'm not gonna help ya kill yerself. So ya can jus' forget about it."

Rowan opened his mouth to argue, but at the sound of someone banging on the door, he snapped it closed and looked to his friends.

"Open the damn door before we bust it down," a deep voice boomed from just outside the doorway. "We know you're in there, Thomas . . . an' I'd stake my life on it that yer damn brother's in there with ya."

"You're sure the clerk didn't recognize you?" Rowan cursed under his breath as he tried to devise a plan to get his friends out of the motel without having them leave in handcuffs. "Cause that damn well sounds like they recognized you both to me."

Both brothers nodded, and then Thomas gestured toward Dean. "But your friend there is practically the spittin' image of me, so I'm thinkin' they thought he was me."

"Sonuva . . . ." Rowan's voice trailed off as he stared long and hard at Dean. Off the bed in a shot, he gripped a hold of Dean's arm, and held onto it firmly as he nudged his head toward the windowsill. "You two go out the window . . . me an' Dean'll stay here, an' deal with the sheriff."

"You're kidding me, right?" Dean tried to jerk free of the vampire's viselike grip, but he only tightened his hold in response. "Damn it, Rowan, let go of my arm. I'm not about to go to jail for anyone."

"Don't think I was actually giving you a choice in the matter." Fangs descending, Rowan snarled at Dean as he threw him up against the wall and pinned him there.

"You boys got ten seconds to come out with yer hands held high or we're comin' in after ya." The sheriff pounded furiously on the door, then something heavy slammed into it, splintering the wood.

"This ain't right, Rowan," Michael Dean argued as he hastily gathered his clothes together and tossed them in a worn leather bag. "We can't let him take th blame for us. He'll hang."

"Better him than you or Thomas Samuel. Now go!" Rowan ordered, and breathed a sigh of relief when both Winchesters' slipped out of the window and disappeared from view.

Dean struggled against Rowan, but the vampire was too powerful and was able to quickly counter every move Dean attempted. "Rowan, don't do this, I have to find the Ark."

"I'm not letting you have the Ark," Rowan slammed a fist into Dean's face, "an' I'm not lettin' you out of here." Cocking back a fist, he smashed it into Dean's face again. "An' if ya think I won't watch you hang to protect my friends you'd be dead wrong."

"You'll hang, too." Dean caught Rowan's hand as he made to strike again, twisted it and brought his elbow down hard against the vampire's forearm.

"I can't die so I really don't care," Rowan snarled as he brought up a foot and kicked Dean squarely in the stomach, knocking him back into the wall again.

From behind Rowan, Dean heard another bang quickly followed by a loud crack as the door splintered into pieces. Several men rushed into the room with guns drawn, and every weapon was pointed directly at Dean's chest.

"Hands in the air, Thomas," the barrel-chested sheriff gruffly ordered, and when Dean reluctantly complied, the older man nudged his head toward Rowan. "An' you, too."

"I haven't done anything wrong, Sheriff," Rowan said as he raised his hands.

"Well, that's not exactly true, Rowan," Dean smirked, "since I'm a criminal, an' you paid for my motel room, you're actually harboring me . . . an' that's a crime. An' that's not even mentioning that fire I saw you start back in New York." He grinned at the Sheriff, and then bobbed his head toward Rowan. "With a fire that big, I'm pretty damn sure some people must've died, so that would be murder, an' if I'm not mistakin', murder is somethin' a person would probably hang for . . . am I right?"

"I didn't start any damn fire, Dean," Rowan said with a forced smile, "An' you know that."

"I swear he did it, or my name's not Thomas Samuel Winchester."

"Cuff 'em both," the sheriff ordered.

"You know I really can't stand you," Rowan snarled as two men cuffed his hands behind his back and then proceeded to handcuff Dean as well.

"Yeah, I know, an' believe me the feeling's mutual."


	3. Chapter 3

_so i know this is a short chapter but i really like the thought of ending it here...thanks for reading and for the aweome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Three_

"If you had just kept your damn mouth shut, Dean, I could've broken ya out of jail, an we could've been on our way to Connecticut right now."

"Well, if you had told me that was your plan instead of punching me in the freakin' face, I might not have said that you started that fire," Dean snapped as he stalked back and forth in the small cell.

"Well, punching you in the face had nothing to do with the plan." Rowan leaned against the black iron bars, and crossed his arms. "I've just wanted to do that since the moment I met you. But I'm pretty sure that's probably most people's first reaction when meeting you, an' not just a vamp thing."

Dean stopped pacing and slumped down onto the thin pallet that served as a bed. "Why do you hate me so damn much, Rowan? What did I do that was so freakin' wrong that you'd jus' let me take Thomas' place to hang?"

"How could I hate you, I don't even know you." Rowan trudged the short expanse, took a seat beside Dean, and leaned back to rest against the brick wall. "But you seem to know so damn much about me, an' that really just bugs the hell out of me."

"I told you we're friends."

"I don't want to be friends with you, Dean."

"Why the hell not?"

Rowan heaved a weary groan as he raked his fingers through is unruly hair. "Cause if I accept the fact that we're friends then I have to also accept the knowledge that no matter what I do, I'm gonna live forever. An' I'd rather just go on not liking you than to consider that possibility."

"Well, that's just stupid."

"Wow, thanks for that rousing bit of support," Rowan rolled his eyes, "an' you wonder why I wouldn't wanna be your friend."

"Fine you don't wanna be friends, whatever." Dean pushed himself to his feet and set to pacing once more. "How the hell are we gonna get out of here before they decide to hang us?"

"I'm working on a plan," Rowan said as he folded his legs and rested his forearms on his knees.

"Is it gonna be as good as your first plan cause that one pretty much sucked out loud."

"Well, I had considered using your head as a battering ram to bust down the door, but then I figured I'd have to end up carrying you outta here, an' the plan lost some of its appeal." A mirthful laugh slipped past Rowan's lips as he pushed himself to his feet, and held out a hand to Dean. "Give me your knife."

Dean's brow raised in confusion. The deputies had searched them both for weapons before throwing them in the cell, but had failed to find the knife Dean had concealed in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. "How'd you know I had a knife?"

"If I know anything at all about the Winchesters' it's that they always have some sort of weapon stashed away where no one would think to look for it, so hand it over."

"What are you gonna do with it?" Dean asked as he pulled the knife out of his pocket and handed it to Rowan.

"I was thinking that maybe I would carve _'Rowan and Dean were here'_ into the bricks," he said and flashed a cocky grin when Dean rolled his eyes. "Naww . . . I'm just kidding, unless you really wanna."

"Can you just try an' be serious for like ten seconds," Dean huffed, nearing the end of his patience. "I know you have a whole world full of time on your hands, but I've gotta get out of here an' find that damn Ark."

The laughter died on Rowan's lips at the not so subtle reminder that he would live forever. "That was a cheap shot, Dean."

It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to say he was sorry as he hadn't meant to hurt the vampire's feelings, but just by the angry expression on Rowan's face, he knew he wouldn't accept his apology. "Look, I don't wanna argue with you. I just wanna get out of here, find the Ark, an' go home."

"Alright," Rowan said with a curt nod, and taking a hold of both sides of his shirt he ripped it apart. With a low growl, he dragged the blade across his chest. Blood seeped down his chest to splatter on the ground as he continued to cut deeper and deeper into his flesh.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean shouted, grabbing hold of the vampire's wrist, and yanked the knife out of his hand.

"Well, you wanted out, so I'm gettin' us out of here." Dropping down to sprawl on the floor, Rowan let out a loud cry of pain. He then nudged his head toward the cell door, and ordered, "When the deputies come an' open that damn door to drag your ass out of here, I'll jump them from behind."

"God, you really are buckets of crazy, aren't you?"

"Maybe, but you gotta admit it's a cool plan." A brief smile lit across Rowan's features, but the moment Dean heard footsteps rushing toward them, the vampire lowered his head and closed his eyes.

"If this doesn't work, Rowan, I'm so gonna kick your ass," Dean hissed before he turned to face three deputies.

The three men looked from him to Rowan's bloody, prone body on the floor and then back to the knife Dean held loosely in his grip. In one fluid movement, they all drew their guns and trained them on Dean, and as he raised his hands and dropped the blade he could've sworn he hear Rowan snickering from behind him.

"Boy, where'd ya get that knife?" The deputy with graying sandy hair and thick swirling mustache stepped forward to unlock the cell door. The metal key rattled in the lock, and then clicked loudly. He pulled the door open, and once again leveled his weapon Dean's chest. "You hear me talkin' to ya, boy?" he asked when Dean smirked and didn't immediately respond. "Where'd you get it?"

"Your Mother." His cocky grin abruptly died away, and was replaced with a grimace and grunt of pain when the two other deputies roughly grabbed his arms and the sandy-haired man slammed the butt end of the shotgun into his stomach. "M-Maybe it was your s-sister," he uttered between gasping breaths.

"Earl, I say we jus' string him up," the dark-haired deputy to Dean's right said as he tightened his grip on his arm.

"Or we could shoot him an' say he was escaping." The shorter deputy pushed Dean out of the cell and into the brick wall.

"I vote we let me go, an' call this all a huge mistake."

"There's no mistakin' that yer a cold-blooded murderer." Earl bobbed his head toward Rowan's prone form and gestured to the pool of blood spreading outward from his body.

"It wasn't murder," Dean adamantly declared with a shake of his head. "Anyone who's spent more than ten minutes with Rowan would tell ya it was totally justifiable homicide."

"I'm with Roy, I say we string him up." After the shorter deputy cuffed Dean's hand's behind his back, Earl grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and shoved him toward the entrance of the building.

As he was pushed through the front door of the jail, Dean glanced back over his shoulder, expecting to see Rowan come charging out of the cell to attack the deputies, but the vampire was no where to be found. He slowed in his steps, dragging his feet as the deputies led him around to the back of the jail, and headed toward an old maple tree. Dean stole another peek over his shoulder, and inwardly groaned when he noticed that Rowan still hadn't followed. _Damn it, Rowan, get your ass out here. _

"You can't be serious with this whole hang 'em high crap."

"Do we look as if we're not serious?" Roy tied a knot in the rope he had brought with him, slipped the noose around Dean's neck and tightened it. Dean gagged and squirmed against his restraints, panic filling him as Roy threw the rope over an upper limb of the tree, and the other two men took hold of the end of coarse binding and pulled it taut.

Vision swimming, Dean gasped for breath as he was hauled off the snowy ground. Fearfully, he toed at the ground with the tips of his boots as he rose higher and higher into the air. Darkness edged in around him as he struggled to draw in air. Dangling around, he swung to face his attackers, and slammed a foot into Ray's chest. Ray's grip slipped on the rope as he was knocked backward, and Dean fell into the snow with a thud.

The noose briefly loosened around Dean's neck, and he drew in a rasping breath. Coughing hard, he barely managed to suck in a second breath, and the rope pulled tight around his throat again. Stark pain blossomed behind his eyes, temples throbbing as he struggled to draw in air. Once again he felt darkness overtaking him, and desperately fought against it. Eyelids growing heavy, they slowly flitted open and closed as he writhed against the rope.

_Damn it, Rowan . . . help me . . . ._


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the long delay, been trying to manage things with hubby out of town for the past four months, and with four kids, something always has to give, besides just my sanity. Thanks Haley for kicking my butt to ge this posted, and thanks for reading. Thanks againt to everyone who's following this series and for the awesome reviews. bambers;)

The moment the deputies left the jail with Dean, Rowan was on his feet, and heading toward the door. Pushing aside the feeling of guilt that tugged at his heart, he skirted the building and made his way to the corral. _It's not like I owe him anything, _he reassured himself as the thought of leaving Dean behind to die continued to nag at the back of his mind. _For all I know, he could be a shapeshifter. _

After making sure there was no one inside the building, he saddled his horse, and climbed up on her back. With a nudge to her flanks, Shadowslayer took off at a gallop, away from the center of town and from Dean. _He seems to know more about me than anyone ever has before . . . what if he's telling the truth? _He shook his head, disregarding the notion, but couldn't deny that Dean had known his real name and how he'd become a vampire. Those were two secrets he had never shared with anyone before, and that had to mean something. _If I did tell him then it would have to mean that I trust him even more than I trust Micheal Dean . . . and I am letting him hang. Well, that kinda thing could certainly put a crimp in our friendship. _

"Sonuvabitch," he muttered under his breath, pulling back on his horse's reins, and guiding her to turn back around. "Come on, girl," he pat Shadowslayer on the side of her long, sleek neck, "let's go save the damsel in distress." Kicking her into a gallop, he made a wide arch around the buildings, and charged toward the small lynch mob.

Through narrowed eyes, he saw Dean kick one of the deputies, and as the man's hand loosened on the rope the newest Winchester in his life had fallen to the ground. Within a heartbeat, they had the rope pulled taut again, and had hefted Dean off the ground, strangling him. So intent on killing him, they never even heard Rowan's approach, or if they had they didn't seem worried about it in the slightest.

With the grace and skill only a vampire could possess, Rowan slipped his leg over the side of his horse, and leapt off of its back as it charged past the deputies. Not about to try and reason with the men, he gripped hold of the tallest of the three, swung him around and slammed a fist into his jaw. As the man fell to his knees his hold on the rope broke, and Dean slid bonelessly to the ground. The two other men turned on Rowan, and dropping the rope, they circled him.

"Look," Rowan uttered in an almost bored tone, not moving a muscle in an effort to defend himself. "I know you're probably thinking to yourself, he's only one guy, we can take him no problem. But the problem with that logic is that I'm kinda pissed off that you guys were tryin' to hang my friend . . . and I'm also kinda hungry, which wouldn't mean a whole helluva lot until you factor in the fangs." Eyes alighting with an unearthly gleam, his lips parted slightly, exposing sharpened fangs. Both men stopped dead in their tracks and gaped in sudden overwhelming fear. He chuckled, reveling in the stark look of terror in their beady eyes. "Yeah, I figured that would probably make all the difference in the world. It's just one of those things about me that always seems to scare the hell out of people."

"Y-you're . . . you're a - "

"I'm someone you never wanna mess with," Rowan was quick to interrupt the shorter of the three men, not about to confirm or deny that he was a vampire. "But let's just say that if you don't hightail it out of here right now, they'll be searching for your bodies for a very long time."

Giving it less than a moment's thought, all three tore off in different directions. Rowan shook his head in disbelief as his deep laughter filled the air. The laughter died quickly on his lips however, recalling how swiftly terror could fill the heart's of men when they believed a monster was in their midst. He'd witnessed it before, watched as normally good people turned on their friends and neighbors, claiming that they were some sort of demonic creature that needed to be destroyed. If the Salem Witch Trials had taught him only one thing, it was that nothing could turn people against each other quicker than their own deep rooted fears, and it was for that reason, Rowan rarely revealed what he truly was to anyone.

Rowan crouched beside Dean, loosened the noose from around his neck and carefully removed it. Deep reddish welts rimmed his throat, rubbed raw from the coarse fibers of the rope. He pressed his eyes closed and listened intently, and breathed a sigh of relief when he detected a weak heartbeat coming from the younger man. If he had waited a few minutes longer to rescue Dean, he wouldn't have been so lucky, and then he would be stuck explaining his death to Michael.

"Dean." He gently nudged the younger man on the shoulder, but he failed to respond. "Come on, Dean, I saved your sorry ass, now wake up." Noticing that Dean's lips were tinged a light shade of blue, he cursed under his breath. Rowan quickly lowered his head to Dean's chest, and listened. Dean's chest barely rose as he drew in a shallow breath and released it, but at least he was breathing on his own. "Damn it, don't you die on me."

For as long as he had been around Micheal Dean and Thomas Samuel, he still sometimes forgot how fragile humans really were. Gently pressing his fingertips to the underside of Dean's neck, he cautiously moved his fingers forward, checking for any deformities. He breathed another thankful sigh when he found nothing that would indicate that they had broken Dean's neck.

With a low whistle to call Shadowslayer back to him, he gathered the unconscious man up in his arms, and pushed himself to his feet. "You do realize this is carrying the whole damsel in distress thing a bit too far, right?" He chuckled, certain that if Dean was awake he would probably try to kick his ass for the comment.

"Easy girl," he soothed Shadowslayer as he carefully positioned Dean on the saddle, and climbed up onto her back. "That's my good girl," he softly purred, reaching around the unconscious man to loving stroke her behind her ear.

Once he had Dean better situated in front of himself, making certain his head wouldn't jostle overly much during the ride, he prodded Shadowslayer into a steady gait, heading toward Samuel Colt's home in Connecticut.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Jax?" Sam called, searching his unfamiliar surroundings for his friend. Where was he? Looking up at the large mansion before him, he wondered how he'd gotten there. The last thing he remembered they'd been at Jax's childhood home saving Becca. He patted his pockets in search of his cell phone and came up empty.

A sudden and troubling thought surfaced as he moved up the unpaved walkway to the large stone mansion. _Was I possessed again? Is that why I can't remember getting here?_ He wondered, remembering the last time he'd experienced lost time was when Meg had possessed him. _But the tattoo, it's supposed to protect me from that happening again._ His mind flitted back to Lucifer stepping out from within the devil's trap Sam had drawn around the demon's feet. _If that can't hold him...then maybe the tattoo doesn't protect against him possessing me._

He mounted the few steps to the mansion door and looked for a doorbell. Finding none he lifted the heavy iron knocker on the door, listening to his knock echo through the large entranceway as he waited for someone to answer the door. He hoped to use the owner's phone to call Jax or Bobby. _God, please don't let me have hurt them._ He thought, remembering the last time he'd been possessed and how he'd almost killed Jo and had shot Dean.

A stocky, dark-haired man with a thick bushy beard answered the door, looking tired and annoyed. "Can I help ya, son?"

"Umm...I was hoping to use your telephone," Sam said with a polite smile. He watched the man's brow furrow and his eyes narrow as he studied Sam more closely.

"My what? Sir, who are you and what business do ya have on my property?"

"S-Sam Winch-chester," Sam stammered taken aback by the older man's reaction to his request. "L-listen Mr...."

"Mr. Colt, Samuel Colt."

"S-Samuel Colt?"

"Yeah, son, I'm Samuel Colt."

Squinting his eyes, Colt studied Sam closely, and it was clear from his growing look of apprehension that Sam had about two seconds to explain his reasons for being there or risk being shot by the famous gun maker. But how could he even begin to explain when he had no idea how he'd gotten there in the first place?

"I - I think I'm lost . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he pivoted on his heel to take in the neatly keep, snow-covered grounds of the mansion, and then turned back to appraise the heavy-set man in more detail. If his finely tailored, old-fashioned suit, outdated hairstyle and curling mustache were any indication of who he said he was, Sam would have to assume he was telling the truth. His brows pulled together in bewilderment as he gaped slacked-jawed at the man standing in front of him. "You - You're really Samuel Colt? The gun maker?"

Eying Sam suspiciously, the portly man shuffled nervously on his feet. "I've already said that I am twice now . . . are you alright?" he asked, pointing at the seeping cut on Sam's forehead.

"Yeah, I'm so definitely lost," Sam mumbled, racking his brain trying to figure out not only how he'd gotten sent back in time, but also how he was going to get home. He rubbed the tender bump on the back of his head, and wondered absently if maybe he was hallucinating. "Luci - Nick must've done this to me."

"Did what to you?" Confusion and something akin to outright curiosity warred for dominance on the older man's deeply etched features. "Do you need a doctor, son?"

"What year is this?" Sam asked, ignoring Colt's question, still trying to figure out if it were actually possible to travel back through time. And if it so, what had happened to Jax, Becca and Luke in the future? If Sam was here in this time frame, had the demon killed all of them? "How the hell am I supposed to get back home?" he muttered to himself. "Not like there's some DeLorean hidden behind a billboard that I can speed back through time with." A half-crazed laugh slipped past his lips, thinking how much Dean would have appreciated the pop-culture reference, Colt on the other hand, didn't look quite as impressed.

"It's 1835." With his hand on the door, Colt took a backward step toward the inner safety of his home. "An' maybe you should be movin' along before I have someone round up the sheriff."

Sam's head shot up, sudden understanding dawning on him."The year you made the Colt?" If Lucifer had sent him back to this moment in time, it must have had something to do with the demon killing gun. "Have you made it yet?"

"I've made a lot of guns, son."

"No, I'm talking about _the _Colt . . . the one that can kill anything . . . ." Sam's voice once again trailed off as he wondered about the legend of the Colt. A lone man had come to Colt one night before the comet passed overhead and commissioned him to make the special gun. Sam had the knowledge of the gun . . . not necessarily the knowhow to make it a demon killer, but still he could describe it in great detail. What if he had been the one who had told Colt how to make the gun in the first place?

"All my guns have the potential to kill anything . . . deer, bears, mountain lions . . . you name it, an' you can probably kill it with one of my weapons." Colt boasted, although from the look in his dark eyes, he was also being evasive to a certain extent.

"I'm talkin' about a gun that can kill bad things," Sam clarified, hoping that if Colt understood that he knew about demons, he would come clean on his own beliefs. "Evil things."

Tilting his head to the side as if to better appraise Sam, Colt narrowed his eyes on him as he scrubbed a hand through his thick beard. "I don't know what you're talking about," he finally said after a few moments. Before Sam could even think to react, the older man reached behind his back, yanked out a gun and aimed it as his chest. "I think you'd better leave."

"I'm leavin'." With hands raised, Sam slowly backed down the steps. He was now certain that Colt knew exactly what he was talking about, and was afraid. His first thoughts that he might have told the gun maker about the Colt were wrong, someone already had discussed the plans with him. And if that were true, there had to be another hunter around, someone he could talk to who wouldn't think he was out of his mind. But how the hell was he supposed to find the man when he wasn't even exactly sure where he was? "By any chance is there a local bar around here?" he asked, pressing his luck that the older man wouldn't shoot. If there was one thing he knew about hunters, it was that they drank . . . sometimes they drank a lot, and so his best bet was to search the man out in one of the establishments in town.

With his gun barrel, he gestured off to the right, then leveled it back on Sam. "There's Molly's place and The Wild-Eyed Joker about ten miles up the road."

"Thanks." Sam gave the man a tight-lipped smile as he cautiously backed away, not about to turn his back on any man holding a gun.

"Don't mention it an' don't come back because next time I won't be so amicable."

"Yeah, you've been a real peach," Sam muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

A slight jarring motion, startled Dean awake, and he blinked hard against the early morning sun. His first thought was that maybe Rowan had put a quarter in the magic fingers machine on his motel room bed, but vaguely realized he was sleeping in an upright position.

For some reason the inside of throat burned as if he'd swallowed acid, and as he touched his fingertips to his skin he felt deep welts rimming his entire neck. Then with sudden, startling clarity the memory of almost being hung came rushing back to him.

"Welcome back to the world of the almost living," Rowan chuckled from behind him. "Did anyone ever tell you, you talk in your sleep?"

"Wh-what happened?" Dean rasped, clutching hold of the sides of his neck as intense fiery pain seared the inside of his throat.

"Yeah, you probably shouldn't talk for a while." Rowan laughed, reaching behind himself to grab a canteen, and handed it to Dean. "I stopped in town and bought this canteen for ya. I don't have much need for water, but figured you would probably need it."

"Thanks," Dean whispered, wincing as the pain didn't lessen even while talking softly. Taking a slow swig of the cold liquid, he immediately began coughing. Plumes of white mist rose into the cold morning air as his harsh barking cough filled the quiet that surrounded them.

"As for what happened," Rowan went on to say, ignoring Dean's immense discomfort, "I saved your sorry ass from those men who wanted to see you dangling from the end of a rope . . . so, in my way of thinking you owe me."

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, turning his head to look Rowan in the eyes for a brief moment before refocusing his attention on the snow-covered trail in front of them. "You can forget about it, Rowan," he whispered, "I'm not gonna tell you how you can die until you help me find the Ark."

"So much for the undying gratitude I was expecting."

"You were gonna let them hang me." Dean glanced over his shoulder again, pinning the vampire with a stare, waiting for him to try and deny it, but he remained stonily silent. "What made you change your mind?"

"For as stupid as it may sound, my mind is more at rest knowing there are Winchesters in the world, an' I guess that would include you as well," Rowan conceded with a heavy groan. "But it still doesn't mean I like you."

"Rest assured the feeling's mutual." Dean smiled. Even if Rowan didn't want to believe they were best friends in the future, Dean could still feel the undeniable bond of their friendship growing to span the wide gape separating the two time frames. "How much further till we get to Colt's house?"

"It's about another day's ride if we keep at this pace." Rowan fell silent for a moment as he looked straight ahead into the distance. To Dean it seemed as if the vamp wanted to ask him something or maybe the faraway look on his face was meant to mask his hunger. In the future, Rowan had found other means to quench his thirst, owning his own hospital to assure he could always get his hands on fresh blood if the need arose, but in the past he wouldn't be as fortunate. If he was really hungry, and there was no other acceptable source of food, would he consider killing Dean to get what he needed? "I need a distraction," Rowan uttered, the forced cheerfulness in his voice confirming that he was indeed starving. "Tell me about your father."

"My dad was a Marine before he became a hunter." Dean grinned with a certain amount of pride that his father had always chosen the route of protecting people who couldn't protect themselves.

"I don't understand . . . what's a Marine? An' why would he want to be one?"

Dean bit pensively at his lower lip as he tried to think of the best way to describe the different branches of the military so that Rowan would understand. "He was like a soldier, but the kind who could really kick ass. Only the best of the best can be in the Marines."

"And this makes you proud of him? Why?" The curiosity in Rowan's deeply masculine voice was undeniable. "Wars are stupid . . . people die an' nothing ever gets solved."

"And you don't consider fighting demons as a war?"

"What's your father's name?" Rowan asked, ignoring his question, and from this Dean gathered that the vampire had no intention of sharing anything more about himself than what Dean already knew.

"John."

"Ah, like John the Baptist." Rowan gave a nod of understanding as if his father had really been named after the prophet. "That makes sense . . . a man on the forefront of change. Does he realize the importance of the things that are to come?"

"My father died," Dean somehow managed to choke out through the thick knot that had formed in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, and he was grateful that the vampire couldn't see his face at the moment.

"Sorry, how'd he die?"

Not liking the idea of dredging up the painful memories of his father's deal to save him, Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Look, I really don't wanna talk about this with you."

Rowan was silent for a moment, and Dean almost believed that he would let the matter drop, but then he cleared his throat, and spoke. "So you're not proud of the way he died . . . or else you feel it was your fault - that's it, isn't it?" The vampire threw back his head and laughed when Dean's shoulders slumped. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"I was dying, and he traded his soul for my life," Dean mumbled dejectedly as he brushed away the lone tear trailing down his cheek. "So, no I'm not proud of the way he died . . . an' yeah, I do feel responsible for it. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Don't be so hard on him, Dean, people have squandered away their souls for a lot less valiant reasons. I think it's really rather noble if you ask me . . . a man facing an eternity in Hell to save one of the people he cares for most in the world. It says a lot about his character as a man, and you should never be ashamed of that."

"If he had just let me die . . . if he had lived instead of me, things would have been a lot different. Better. He was a better hunter than me . . . he could've protected Sam."

"Maybe," Rowan conceded with a shrug. "But there's a lot to be said for fierce loyalty, an' I'd bet my last dollar you have that one covered in spades."

"How can you say that, you don't even know me."

"Of course I do, Dean, we're best friends, remember?" He chuckled as he clapped Dean on the back. "An' besides, I must've trusted the hell out of you if I told you my real name . . . not to mention my aversion to bats."

Dean fell silent, lost in his own thoughts. Given the time to reflect on his growing hunger, Rowan's body grew rigid, hands tightening around the reins. Shadowslayer whinnied in protest, rearing up, and nearly knocked both of them out of the saddle. Rowan immediately loosened his grip, and guided his horse back into a slow gait.

"Damn it, I told ya I needed a distraction . . . you stop talkin' an' all I can hear is the blood rushing through your veins," Rowan snapped harshly, scowling at the younger man. "Maybe I haven't mentioned this before, but I like blood, Dean . . . I like it a lot - So unless you wanna be my dinner, I'd suggest you get over your 'poor me I've had such a tough life' attitude, and start talking."

"That's odd," Dean couldn't help but tease the frustrated vamp, noticing how hard he was trying to control his need to sink his fangs into Dean's flesh. "In the future you can't even stomach the sight of blood. In fact you're kinda like a girl . . . you actually fainted once when I got a small cut."

"Seriously?" Rowan's brows pulled together, trying to imagine what could've happened to make him dislike the taste or sight of blood. "So what do I eat then?"

"Mostly oatmeal . . . you say it's what all the cool vamps eat," Dean said, trying his damnedest to keep a straight face. "Of course, the fact that you've lost your fangs might have something to do with your new preference to mushy food."

"Oh God, please tell me you're kidding . . . or jus' kill me now."

"No, I'm serious, but hardly any one can tell you're wearing dentures - it's probably cause they're too busy noticing your wig."

Rowan swallowed hard, imagining a future where he was bald and toothless. "So . . . in the future, I'm a bald, toothless vampire?"

If there was one thing he knew without a doubt about the vamp it was that he was overly cocky about his appearance. He'd made references to being the better looking of them numerous times, and couldn't resist tormenting him a little more. "You forgot overweight . . . all that oatmeal really packed on the pounds . . . but I've been getting you to work out a bit - you've been kind of a shut-in since the whole rashy, skin condition started." Dean burst out laughing at the look of sheer horror on his friend's face.

"So you think that's funny?" Rowan's frown deepened as he pulled back on the horse's reins, bring her to a halt. "Get the hell off my horse."

"You can't be serious, I was just joking, Rowan," he uttered, meeting the vampire's angry glare, and realized he wasn't kidding. "You said to distract you, an' that's what I did."

"Get off, Dean - Now."

"No." Pursing his lips, Dean shook his head. "You're gonna help me find the Ark."

"If you don't get off my damn horse, I will kill you," Rowan growled, fangs descending to rip through his gums. Blood filled his mouth, igniting his ravenous hunger. Squeezing his eyes shut, he desperately fought off the need to rip Dean's throat apart and gorge himself on his blood. "Please . . . jus' get off an' run."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

If the long walk to town taught Sam anything, it was that he had definitely gone back in time. Some of houses that lined the road, new and elegant now, would be the historical restorations of the future. Others would crumble and be replaced by larger steel constructions. Several horse-drawn wagons passed him by on the deeply rutted road, and the people inside actually waved and smiled at him. Most of the women he'd seen had worn long woolen dresses and bonnets, while the men looked more like farmers in their cowboy hats and attire. He quickly distinguished the richer townfolk, who rode around in fine carriages, and wore expensive suits much like the one that Colt had worn.

There was a strange peacefulness to this time that Sam had never experienced before in all his life, and he found himself smiling despite the cold. Everything about his life in the future was all about hunting, here things seemed slower in a good way, even if Samuel hadn't been the nicest person he had ever met.

Not having any money that would be useful in 1835, he only stayed at Molly's Place long enough to determine it was a more upscale bar, and definitely not the kind of place a hunter would stay at for any length of time. Wild-Eyed Jokers, one the other hand, reminded him a lot of the Roadhouse, except he could never imagine Ellen or Jo wearing the tight-fitting dresses the barmaids in this establishment wore. A half-grin slid across his features, imagining the comments Dean would have been making if he had seen the heaving chests of the blond and brunette serving beer to the patrons. _He would have liked this . __I bet he could've been happy here. _His smile faded, recalling how broken his brother had looked the night he'd walked out of his life for the last time. He would've never admitted it, but he really had pinned all his hopes on Sam finding a way to break the deal. _I'm so sorry, Dean. God, I wish it were me instead . . . you should've let it be me._

The stale, beer-scented air, filled Sam's lungs as he crossed the darkly lit room and took a seat at the bar beside a dark-haired man who didn't look much older than himself. Head lowered, he found himself studying the man out of the corner of his eye. He had the look of a hunter, but that wasn't saying much as most of the rough crowd in the bar had almost the same exact look. Most of the men were unshaven, had several days growth of beard, and from all appearances hadn't bathed in days at the very least. This man, however, was cleanly shaved, bathed, and had a curiously familiar grin.

The dark-haired man suddenly shifted in his seat and gave Sam a brief glance before lowering his head to take a drink of his whiskey. "What?" he asked when Sam still continued to gawk at him.

"Huh?" Sam's brows rose in confusion, and then realized that he had been staring at him. "Sorry, I just thought you looked kind of familiar." Even though Sam knew it was an impossibility, he really did look vaguely familiar.

"Familiar like I owe you money an' you're gonna try an' kick my ass if I don't pay up?" he asked before taking another swallow of his drink. "Cause I wouldn't try it if I were you."

"No, I'm pretty sure you don't owe me any money."

"Well, that'd be a first." The man chuckled, the deep, rich sound of it reminding Sam of the times he had heard his father laugh when he was younger. "My name's Seth." He extended an arm to shake Sam's hand.

"I'm Sam - "

"Winchester, I thought we'd find you here," came a loud, gravelly voice from the doorway, cutting Sam off, and both he and Seth swung around in their seats to stare at eight men heading in their direction. "We've got some unfinished business to take care of."

"See, told you it would be a first," Seth muttered to Sam, not taking his eyes off the burly man in the lead.

"Winchester?" Sam gaped, slack-jawed at the man sitting beside him. "Seth Winchester?"

"Guhh . . . don't tell me I do owe you money," Seth grumbled, seemingly unconcerned about the men who were now standing no more than five feet away from him.

"He one of you?" the man sneered, bobbing his head toward Sam.

Seth shrugged. "Hmmm . . . I dunno, lemme check." He raised his head slightly and sniffed at the air, then shook his head. "Nope, not as far as I can tell, but he is wearing aftershave so I could be mistaken." He parted his mouth slightly, bit at his lower lip, and if Sam wasn't completely mistaken, he could've sworn he'd noticed fangs. "Maybe I should ask him though," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he returned his attention to Sam. "Tell me something, Sam, do you prefer your meat extra rare an' bloody or are you more of a fully cooked kinda guy?"

Now certain of two very distinct truths; the first of which being that Seth was somehow related to him, and the second being that he was a vampire, his eye's widened considerably. "You're a-a - "

"Well, there's your answer, boys." Seth laughed good-naturedly, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Stuttering is always a sure sign that he's just learned what I am and is as scared as all hell."

"I'm not afraid of you," Sam snapped, shrugging Seth's hand off of him. "I've killed a helluva lot worse things than vamps . . . an' I'm jus' trying to decide if that's what I should do to you."

"Aww . . . damn it all to hell." Seth's smile faded quickly to a menacing scowl. "Jus' what I needed tonight, another freakin' hunter to add to the mix. "Sam an' Dean are gonna kill me for sure," he mumbled more to himself than anyone in particular. "Not to mention Rowan who's gonna snap my neck in two when he finds out."

"Sam an' Dean?" Sam uttered louder than he'd intended in his sudden confusion. He knew he wasn't talking about him or his brother, but if not them who was he referring to? "Who the hell are they?"

"Not that it's any of your damn business, but they're my brothers."

"They're vamps, too?" Somehow, cosmically that would make perfect sense to Sam. His family was forced into a life of hunting to make up for the past mistakes of his ancestors. And yet, even if they were vampires, and directly responsible for everything his family had endured, how could he kill any of them without risking his own future?

"Actually they're hunters like . . . ." Seth's voice abruptly trailed off as he tilted is head to the side, narrowed his eyes and took a really good look at Sam. "Sonuva - "

"Bitch," Sam finished the sentiment, realizing for the first time how closely they resembled each other.

"This just isn't possible." The vampire shook his head, backing away from Sam. "No way in hell is this possible. We're the only Winchesters left . . . who the bleedin' bloody hell are you?"

"I don't care who he is or what you are," the burly man interjected as he grabbed hold of Seth's arm, and roughly yanked him off of his barstool. "Ya killed my little girl, an' we're here ta string ya up."

"Should we take him, too, Ed?" asked a stocky man who was nearly as tall as Sam.

"We should take him," a shorter, beady-eyed man chimed in from his position of safety behind the taller man. "Jus' look at him . . . he has to be one of them."

"Yeah, take him, too," Ed ordered, and the others moved in, gripping hold of Sam's arms. "We don't wanna take any chances."

Seth smirked, not at all concerned about being hung by the lynch mob. But why should he be, Sam reasoned, he wasn't going to die, so why should he care if Sam wouldn't be as fortunate?

"Not that I was around at the time, but I think this is how the whole witch trials thing began in Salem." Seth casually commented as he let himself be led from the bar without so much as a struggle. Behind him, six men dragged Sam toward the door as he kicked and squirmed in their arms. "Someone tells a little white lie, things get blown out of proportion, an' the next thing ya know innocent people are being hung while the guilty still roam the streets at night unconcerned about getting caught."

"Would you shut the hell up?" Sam snarled, casting a venomous glare in Seth's direction.

"I'm jus' sayin' is all." Seth shrugged, feigning a brief look of guilt for Sam's benefit, and then his grin returned and deepened as he eyed the woodsy area they were heading toward. "I've heard that some men wet themselves when they're hung . . . sure hope that doesn't happen to you, Sam."

Once they were far enough away from town, two men strung thick ropes over a sturdy Oak, and tied nooses into the other end, while two others tied Sam and Seth's hands behind their backs. Sam bucked and twisted, fighting desperately against the three men holding him as the ropes were tightly secured around his wrists. No one even seemed to notice or be concerned that Seth didn't even lift a finger to defend himself. If they had, they might have realized that vampires couldn't die by being hung.

"Tell 'em I'm not a vamp," Sam hissed as they tied more ropes around his ankles, and slipped the noose around his neck. "Tell 'em before I make sure they know how to kill you, too."

"What are ya talkin' about, Sam?" Seth asked with a look of wide-eyed innocence, putting up a meager fight as the men placed the noose around his neck so as to not rouse their suspicions. "Everyone knows the only way to kill a vamp is by snapping its neck . . . an' here I thought you said you were a hunter."

"You boys said your final peace to whatever maker ya both were spawned from?" Ed asked, breaking in on their argument, and motioned for the men to pull the ropes taut.

"I'm good, how about you, Sam?" Seth smiled, narrowing his eyes on Sam for a moment before looking off into the distance.

"If I somehow get out of this, I am gonna kill you even if you are family," Sam vowed, casting a hateful glance in the vampire's direction, but Seth wasn't paying any attention to him as he continued to stare into the darkened woods.

Sam opened his mouth to threaten Seth again, when the roped were abruptly pulled even tighter, and he found himself being lifted off the ground by his throat. Gagging, he gasped for air as he dangled several feet above the snowy ground.

"A little higher, boys, an' then tie them ropes off to that tree," Ed commanded, gesturing to a nearby pine tree.

Sam struggled vainly to gain his footing as he was hefted even higher in the air, then suddenly the rope jerked forward and snapped in two. Dropping to the ground, he snaked around just in time to see Seth fall in a heap beside him.

"Betcha ya didn't expect that, huh?" Seth grinned at Sam, bobbing his head toward the trees, and for the first time Sam notice two men on horseback. "Those are my brothers, an' they don't take kindly ta anyone tryin' ta hurt me."

"I'd suggest you all go home now," one of the two horsemen called out, leveling his gun on Ed. "Unless ya all really wanna see how deadly I can be with this gun."

"That's Thomas Samuel," Seth commentated, "he's a bit on the cocky side, but I've seem him put a silver round through werewolf's heart from more than seventy yards out, so if I were them I'd listen to him."

The men, who had witness the brothers' excellent marksmanship and heard Seth, slowly backed away. However, Ed, who was looking for justice for his daughter, was so not easily frightened. He stood his ground, and hastily made for his own gun, but a bullet whizzed through the air, and sliced through his upper arm. A sharp cry of pain echoed through the woods as the burly man clutched hold of the bloody wound.

"My brother told ya to go, don't make this into a bloodbath because you will die - all of you," said the other rider, in a low deadly tone.

"An' that's Micheal Dean," Seth said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "He's usually the more reflective one, but get him pissed an' ya better run for cover . . . . he's really pissed now."

"Whatever you think my brother did, I can assure you, you're mistaken," Micheal Dean went on to say, never taking his eyes off of Ed.

"He killed my daughter," Ed argued, still not backing down even though all of men had scattered the moment Micheal had shot him.

"Did you, Seth?" Thomas asked, leveling his shotgun on Seth's throat.

"I swear I didn't touch anyone," Seth vowed, and Sam could hear the slight tremor of fear in his voice that hadn't been present until now. "It was someone else . . . something else."

"Well, there ya have it - he didn't hurt anyone, so I'd suggest you leave," Thomas shifted his gun back to Ed, and his finger tensed on the trigger. "You already had your one warning shot, we're not giving you another."

Ed glanced around, realized he was alone and out gunned, and hastily backed away. Amidst the sound of Seth's laughter, he swore his revenge, turned and ran back through the trees.

The two riders guided their horses through the pines, and came to a halt in front of Sam and Seth. They both slid off their saddles in one fluid movement, and were at their brother's side in an instance.

"I swear, Seth," Micheal said as he untied his hands and feet, "one of these day's you're gonna get us killed, an' I'm gonna haunt yer sorry ass."

"Yeah, I know." Seth chuckled, rubbing his chaffed wrists. "But before that happens, I'll turn ya both an' we can go all vampy on these stupid humans."

"Who's yer friend?" Micheal turned his attention to Sam, and drew in a staggering breath. "Sonuva - " his voice abruptly trailed off as he stared open mouthed at him.

"That's what I said, too, when I got a good look at him." Seth chuckled. "Downright scary isn't it . . . thought maybe he was a shifter, but his eyes are a different color than yours an' a shifter wouldn't make that kind of stupid mistake."

"Who the hell are you?" Thomas asked, pressing the barrel of his gun into Sam's back.

"Sam Winchester," Sam hissed, scowling as he recalled how he had thought 1835 seemed so peaceful in comparison to the future.

"I figure he must somehow be a relation to us," Seth interjected, pushing Sam out of the way to grab hold of Thomas' gun. "An' we don't kill family, remember?"

Biting at his lower lip, Micheal looked at Thomas for a moment as if he was trying to decide something, and then refocused his attention on Sam. "Are you related to a Dean Winchester by any chance?"

"Dean?" Sam's eyes narrowed considerably, brows furrowing in confusion. "How could you know that . . . how could you possibly know that?"

"Well, we just ran into him about two days ago in New York, an' he looked so much like Thomas, I just figured . . . ."

"You ran into Dean - short, scruffy-haired," he waved his hand around his hair, "green eyes . . . cocky as all hell attitude, Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah, that's him, except he had some sort of mohawk hair thing going on, an' I think it was blue . . . maybe green . . . weird really."

"He said his name was Dean Winchester, an' Rowan seemed to know him," Thomas continued onward as Micheal apparently contemplated the weirdness of colored hair. "He said Dean was a really distant relation to us, so you're either his brother or this is jus' too strange of a coincidence for my liking."

"Wh-where is he?" Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Sam tried desperately not to get his hopes up, there was no possible way it could be his brother. Tears welled and stung at his eyes at the thought of seeing his brother again, but there had to be some sort of mistake. "I need to see him . . . please, if you know where he is, you gotta tell me."

Micheal pulled off his cowboy hat, and ruffled a hand through his hair. "Last we saw of him, the sheriff was leading him and Rowan away to jail. Think they're gonna try an' hang them . . . so by my figurin', they be here by tomorrow - what would you think, Thomas?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"He's coming here?" Sam's heart leapt into his throat, then made a hasty beeline toward the pit of his stomach. He couldn't believe his brother was alive. He'd thought so many times that he was alive, and had always been proven wrong. Still, even as he tried to convince himself that it couldn't possibly be Dean, hope surged through his entire heart and soul. "You're sure . . . really sure?"

"Yeah, we're sure." Micheal Dean smiled. "Sounds like you've been really missing him, bet he'll be glad ta see you, too, I'd imagine."

"You can't even begin to imagine how much I've missed him."


End file.
